My heart belongs in the great white open
out on the crest of a rocky oceanside
overlooking shady seas
With hands made for digging trenches
and mending fences
for leading herds to water and predators asunder
My spirit was meant to taste the giddyup
of wide open spaces,
not confined to these tiny little places
I was made of strong stock, for hard work, and tough stuff
to move without thinking and to help without asking
Born from a line of farmers, tinkerers, fixers and creators
never meant to stay still or sit in a corner
I crave long days that pass in a flash
that are rewarded by hot showers on sore muscles
and the silent meditation of nightfall when its over
In my mind’s eye, this way of living is my peace
and how I live now is just the entry fee

As the days go by, the tiny flame of my spirit cries,
“When will I get to be out there, out where I belong?”

and I sit in my little corner and console it,
“One day, I promise… one day.”